The SoapBoxers

Darren Wieters felt the butterflies in his stomach. The 39 year old had been working toward this moment for his entire career. It was the final game of the season, and Wieters had entered the game with 2994 career hits. The sports world was resigned to the fact that Wieters would have to come back one more year to enter the 3000 hit club.

Wieters privately wondered if his body could take another year of abuse. His left knee would need to be scoped in the off-season, and the shoulder needed the cortisone shots more frequently in recent years. Another regimen of off-season workouts, just to stay in shape for a handful of hits next year. That did not sound like much fun at all – but it was the price of greatness.

Wieters had left off the game with a single. Another single in the third, a double in the fifth, a double in the sixth, and yet another single in the eighth had put him on the cusp of history. He had five hits in five at bats, pushing his career hits total to 2999 – the brink of immortality.

Wieters watched Sean Graham line out hard to the third baseman for the first out of the inning. Wieters collected himself, took a deep breath, and took the short walk toward the batter’s box.

“Go get ’em, Dee Dub” yelled Graham. Wieters nodded absently, lost in his thoughts.

The flashbulbs around the park lit up the darkness. Every fan in the stands knew the importance of this moment. Just one more hit would stamp Wieters’ ticket to the Hall of Fame. Any hit would do – an infield single or a home run – it didn’t make a difference. Another hit would also give Wieters a rare six hit game – and make him the first to ever reach the 3000 hit plateau with a six hit game.

The opposition, however, was not going to simply roll over. Especially not in a tie game. The Dragons pitching coach jogged out to the mound and signaled for a lefty to come in to face Wieters.

Wieters took some unhappy practice swings – annoyed not only by the prospect of an unfavorable lefty-lefty match-up, but also with the delay in the action.

Finally, the southpaw finished his warm-up pitches and toed the rubber. Wieters dug in at the plate. Wieters knew that this guy would try to get him to expand his strike zone, so he watched the mid-90s fastball go – barely missing the plate.

The next pitch got more of the plate than the pitcher had planned, and Wieters drove the ball toward deep center field. The crowd roared when they realized that the ball was going to fall in for a hit. Wieters felt the presence of first base under his feet – his #3000! He never broke his stride and raced toward second. As he neared the bag, the third base coach was giving him the stop sign, but Wieters knew he could beat the throw. He kicked it into high gear and roared toward third base. He would become only the second player to enter the 3000 hit club with a triple!

He lost his footing as he approached third base. He stumbled, then fell – but his momentum was still propelling him toward the bag. He reached for the base. Yes – his hand was in before the tag!

“OUT!” roared the ump.

Wieters jump up in protest. The blind bat had missed the call. A piece of history, and he had just blown the call. Wieters was fuming and gave the the man in blue a piece of his mind.

“Yer outta here” yelled Blue when he finally lose patience with Weiters, ejecting the future Hall of Famer from his final game. Wieters shared a few more choice words before retreated toward the dugout. As he approached, Sean Graham tossed him a ball. Wieters grabbed it angrily and hurled it into the stands. He grabbed a bat and began a vicious assault on the water cooler.

It took Darren Wieters a moment to realize that Graham has tossed him the ball from his 3000th hit – and that in his anger he had discarded it like a piece of trash.

Could it be? A brand new story? Yep!

Andrew sighed as he pressed his face against the window and watched the rain fall. It was going to be another dreary day inside cell block K. He had been rousted from his bed far earlier than he would have liked, and after the morning’s calisthenics, he was forced to participate in the prison’s compulsory education system.

Andrew felt wrong by the system. He was no criminal – he had been railroaded by the system. He missed his younger sister and his parents and was angry that his prison sentence restricted the time he could spend with them. He knew that the years were going to pass very slowly.

For a moment, he envied his brother Sam. Sam was also an unjustly held prisoner. At least Sam had some hope for a better future. Sam was in cell block 6, but would be moving to a new facility within the year. The new facility afforded the inmates more opportunities. It wasn’t freedom, but it was far closer to freedom than Andrew could dream of.

It wouldn’t even be accurate to say that Sam was disappointed with the lunch that the prison served. During his time in the prison, he had grown accustomed to the swill that masqueraded as food. Government workers producing the very worst in institutional food. Andrew felt himself getting sick to his stomach. Didn’t the constitution ban cruel and unusual punishment?

The mid-day siesta was a welcome break from the drudgery within the prison walls. For an hour, Andrew was able to push aside the negativity that filled his days. He dreamed of the better days ahead. Days outside these prison walls, walking through a meadow on a beautiful summer day. For this brief period each day, Andrew had hope for the future, and his mind escaped the prison walls.

After the siesta, the inmates were marched out to the exercise yard for the alloted period of fresh air. The dampness still clung in the air, and it was chilly. Andrew huddled to keep warm as he watched some thugs in another section of the yard. Some of these people had clearly grown accustomed to the life inside these walls and even seemed to enjoy it. Andrew hoped that he would never fall victim to this fate. He would never give up and resign himself to life within the walls.

As the day wound down, Andrew went to a corner of his cell and scrawled another vertical line, marking yet another day within the prison.

“Andy,” shouted Miss Bolton. “We don’t write on the walls. Give me that crayon!”

Andrew smiled sheepishly and gave the red crayon to his kindergarten teacher,

I should be getting back to writing new short stories in a few weeks, but until then, I’ll share this re-run with you.  It originally ran on January 1, 2010.

Jay Maxwell grabbed a cloth and polished the exterior of the machine. It wasn’t really necessary for the machine to shine, but Jay took great pride in his invention. Indeed, why shouldn’t he take great pride in it? He had devoted three decades of his life to his work.

Over the years, Jay had spent a fortune on his invention. He had inherited enough money from his grandmother’s estate to live a life of quiet comfort. However, Jay was not content to simply sit on the sidelines sipping margaritas while life merely passes. He plowed the money into his academic endeavors. Over the years, he had been forced to move from his grandmother’s stately mansion to a townhouse, and then finally to a one bedroom apartment in a run down part of town.

Never for a moment did Jay regret his decision. He had poured his money and his life’s work into one thing – finding a way to travel through time. After battling endless technical obstacles, he believed that he had finally developed a machine capable of slinging him to the far reaches of the space-time continuum.

It was the moment of truth. The JayMax model 16A was ready for its first passenger. Jay looked around his lab, stopping to remember the found memories of his work. He bid a fond farewell and jumped into the JayMax. Jay decided to let fate be his guide. He turned the dial to “random” and hit the “Go” button.

Jay felt a mild cause of nausea as he felt his essence be transported to a different time and place. Eight months ago, Jay had determined that while it may not be feasible to transport an entire physical being, it was definitely possible to transport someone’s essence – what some might call the spirit – and embed it into a person from another time.

Jay felt a sudden jolt as his spirit stopped moving and was thrown rather roughly into his new host. His entire body tingled with the excitement of the moment. Jay took a moment to take in his surroundings. He could not believe his luck. He was in the Roman Coliseum. Jay felt great sympathy for those who had only been able to view the ruins. The structure was astonishing in the light of the mid-day sun.

There was a great crowd on hand, and they were standing and roaring their approval. An instant later, Jay realized that he was in the middle of the Coliseum. This wonderful crowd was roaring for him! It seemed that he was a contestant in a gladiator contest. What wonderful luck for him.

Then Jay heard a roar what was unlike the roar emanating from the crowd. This was a roar that was the roar of a great beast. It dawned on Jay that this was also the place where the Christians were fed to the lions. Jay realized that his decades of work spent in search of a solution for time travel would be for naught, as he would soon be in the belly of a lion.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jay caught sight of another man. Were two of them being fed to the lions at once? Then he suddenly felt a strange sensation coming from the area near his buttocks. It almost felt as if he had a tail.

In that instant, everything came into focus. It was then that Jay realized that he hadn’t had a decent meal in several days.

This Friday will mark the debut of a new column, as Princess Kate joins us with her monthly article about the world of art. To get us in the mood, I’m re-running a short story of mine that originally ran on June 18, 2010.

On this particular evening, Sylvester Barnes traded his palette and brushes for a different set of tools. He stopped for a moment to collect his breath, and then swung the maul with all the strength he could muster.  The door resisted the first blow, but when Sylvester’s second blow landed on target, the lock yielded and the door sprung inward.

When Barnes stepped into the gallery, he was tempted to use the maul to smash every single piece of so-called “art” that had found a home in this third-rate gallery.  He’d be ashamed to use any of the statues as door stops and most of the paintings were worse than the garbage kindergartners brought home after a day of finger painting.  Certainly, all of this deserved to be destroyed, but he could not lose focus from the true mission.

Barnes came upon a door marked “Staff Only” and once again presented the maul as his key.  This door, too, allowed him entrance, and he strode into the back room studio.

Upstairs, above the Cherry Tree Gallery, Kailey Bell awoke from her deep slumber.  She was fully awake when Sylvester battered down the second door.  Kailey grabbed the pistol from under her pillow, slipped on her pink bunny slippers and snuck down the stairs.

When she arrived at the foot of the stairs, she saw the intruder plunging a hunting knife into the heart of one of her favorite paintings – Farm Pond By Full Moon.  She gasped with pain, as if the dagger was plunging into her own heart.

The man heard her and wheeled around to face her.  She recognized the man as Sylvester Barnes – an impressionist painter with a massive ego and a miniscule amount of talent.

“It’s for the best,” he shouted.  “These paintings deserve to be put out of their misery.  Moonlit lakes?  A sun setting behind mountains?  A boat adrift in the ocean?  Where’s the substance to this?  Where the creativity?  Where’s the meaning?  I’ve had piles of vomit that were more important to the world than these paintings.

“Get out, Barnes.  If you’re not out the door in ten seconds, you’ll regret it.”

“Regret it?” laughed Barnes derisively.  “What are you going to do – make me hang one of your paintings on my wall?”

Kailey pulled the gun from behind her back and pointed it at Barnes.

“Get out, or I shoot.”

“Kailey, you don’t have the balls. Go ahead, shoot me.”  Barnes laughed again as he lunged at another painting and cut it to shreds with the knife.

Kailey pulled the trigger and was devastated to hear a click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber.

She pulled the trigger again and the click was deafening amid the silence..  Barnes brandished his knife and took a menacing step toward her.  “Stupid girl.  The gun’s not even load –“

His words were cut off in mid-sentence as the hammer hit home on a live chamber.  An instant later, the bullet exited the back of Sylvester Barnes’ head, depositing a chunk of his rather small brain on the back wall.

This story originally ran on July 24, 2009.  I’m re-running it today because I’ve always liked it.

Dramatic poetic license has been taken with this story.  The dinosaurs featured in the story would not have interacted with each other in real life.

General Al Osoris paced the corridor of his military headquarters in a bunker at the base of the canyon.  The great general had won many great victories, and the superior Allosaur race had captured vast amounts of enemy territory under his leadership.  Nearly half the land had once been controlled by the Tyrannosaurs, the archenemy of the Allosaur people.  The Tyrannosaurs were now a beaten and bloodied race, now controlling just a small fraction of their previous territory.  The Allosaurs had become the unquestioned leader of the dinosaur world.

In the east, however, trouble loomed.  It seemed that one nation was indeed questioning the leadership of the Allosaurs.  The Raptors, led by General Velo Seeraptor, were attacking Allosaur strongholds.  The fortress at Dinosova was currently under siege.  Dinosova, like many Allosaur fortresses, was defended by Apatosaur soldiers.  The Apatosaurs, with their massive bulk and lethal tails, had been the soldier of choice for many generations of Allosaur generals.

General Seeraptor had been able to threaten the fortress by weakening the Apatosaur army with attacks by Stegosaurs and Triceratops.  These mercenaries, previously aligned with the Allosaurs, had taken money from the Raptors and had switched allegiances.  They suffered significant losses during their attacks upon the Apatosaur defenders at Dinosova.  However, they greatly outnumbered the Apatosaurs, and many Apatosaurs were being killed or seriously injured by the attacks.  Dinosova was in danger of falling into enemy hands within days.

If that news was not bad enough, yesterday General Osoris had received news of light attacks against the fortresses of Jurassia, Cretalion, and Triasso.  In these locations, the Stegosaurs and Triceratops were attacking with far fewer numbers than they were using at Dinosova.  While some officers under Osoris’ command felt that General Seeraptor’s supply of mercenaries had been stretched thin because of the massive attack upon Dinosova, General Osoris felt that the Raptor leader was simply using these attacks to gauge the strength of the defense before lunching a full scale attack.

The General’s radio crackled with static.

Inspired by Andre Ethier’s hitting streak … at 29 games and counting when I wrote this.  If this jinxes Ethier … well, that’s kind of the point.  I hate the Dodgers.

Derek Bond looked around the sold out stadium. The old facility was bulging at the seams with a standing room only crowd. He smiled broadly, thinking of how the night would change his life. His appearance fee would certainly triple, to say nothing of the commemorative items that would make him a fortune.

Derek watched an inferior teammate ground out weakly to short. As the bum returned to the dugout, the team’s brightest star stepped to the plate.

The first pitch caught much more of the plate that the pitcher had hoped for, and Derek took a healthy swing and drove the ball to deep center field. The outfielder raced to keep up with the ball, then made a well time jump at the wall. He landed with a thud at the base of the wall, where he sat stunned for a moment. Then he jumped up, pulled the ball from his glove and fired it back toward the infield.

When Derek returned to the dugout, he took out his frustration on the water cooler as his teammates scattered. How sweet it would have been to extend his hitting streak to 56 games with a home run. It would have made him even more of a legend than he already was.

Derek had his second chance at history in the fourth inning. He wasn’t sure what the score was. He thought perhaps his team was winning. The important thing was to get a hit and keep the streak alive. An inside fastball brushed against his elbow pad and the umpire awarded him first base.

Derek came to the plate in the seventh inning, certain that this would be his historic moment. Unfortunately, the pitcher experienced a bout of wildness, and Derek watched four pitches sail wide of the strike.

“Hey, it’s the hitless wonder,” jeered the opposing first baseman as Bond took his place on the bag.

“I’ll get my hit” replied Bond sharply.

“Runnin’ out of time,” came the reply. “By my reckoning, you’ve got one shot left.”

Derek reflected on the situation and agreed that he’d probably only have one more at bat in the game. He’d have to make it count. After the next hitter struck out, his nemesis crossed Derek’s path on the way back to the opposing dugout.

“Hey, I’ll buy some of that champagne for half price,” mocked the first baseman.

Was it possible that the pitchers were actively attempting to break his streak, with little regard to how it affected the game? Was the pitch that hit him really an accident? Was it a coincidence that the pitcher couldn’t find the strike zone during his last at bat? Derek tried to put the thoughts out of his mind.

When Derek came to the plate in the ninth, the crowd gave him a thunderous ovation. History was still within his grasp. He just needed one insignificant little hit. A blooper to the outfield, a ground ball that found a hole – anything would do. One hit and he would be immortalized.

The first pitch was low and away and Derek took the pitch for a ball. The pitcher hit the same target on the next pitch, running the count to 2-0. When the pitcher hit the same spot a third time, Derek realized that he wasn’t going to see a better pitch. These bums didn’t care about the game – they just wanted to see his streak end.

As the next pitch neared the plate, Derek lunged to reach the pitch, which was far off the plate. He felt the bat make solid contact and saw the white missile shoot high into the night sky. The center fielder didn’t move an inch – he just watched the home run ball fly into the stands.

As the crowd went wild, Derek heard the umpire shout something.

“OUT!” yelled the man in blue, as he pointed at the plate. “You stepped on the plate,” he explained. “You’re out.”

And thus the streak ended not with a bang, but with a whimper – falling victim to a technicality.

“How did it go?”

“Better than I expected. I don’t think we’ll ever be best friends, but we might send each other Christmas cards.”

“That’s a step in the right direction,” replied the prince as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’m glad to see you rebuilding your relationship with your sister. It must have been difficult for her to reach out to you.”

“Enough about me. How was your day?”

“Oh, more of the same old drudgery. Opening parliament, three ribbon cuttings, and tea with the prime minister. Thank God it’s Friday. Time to take a break from work.”

The princess laughed at how he downplayed his important role in society as the much beloved heir to the throne.

“I believe there are still some affairs of the state that you need to tend to.”

“Yes?” he asked, a confused look upon his face.

“We have not yet produced an heir.”

The prince smiled and turned off the bedside lamp.

Their lovemaking that night was very different than it had been in the past. His wife was much less inhibited, as if the reunion with her sister had relieved much of her internal stress.

Soon, they received news that the sister of the princess was moving to America to begin a new life. Although the sisters rarely saw each other in person, they shared frequent letters and phone conversations. The improvement in their relationship had a profound influence on the princess. She appeared happy and stress free. In the bedroom, she became more adventurous with each passing night.

Later that year, the country rejoiced as the princess gave birth to a son. The House of Stewart, reduced to just a single branch, would exist for at least another generation. By the time the prince ascended to the throne, there were six children . The House of Stewart had been saved from the brink of extinction, and the monarchy would continue to exist for an untold number of years. The country breathed a collective sigh of relief.

In a dungeon three hundred miles away, the true princess cried herself to sleep each night. Her husband had been stolen from her by those who plotted to overthrow the monarchy. They chose not a bullet nor a sword as their weapon; but rather, a woman. Her own sister. Her twin. A weapon that could easily breach the security around the royal family. A weapon that would cause the monarchy to die a slow and painful death.

When the princess was past her child bearing years, the plot would be revealed. Her sister – now being recognized as the queen – would reveal that she was a fraud. She would reveal that she had tricked her husband and her country – and that the true queen was her sister.

The six children that the king had fathered were, of course, illegitimate and could not ascend to the throne.

The monarchy seemed destined to die a natural death. The king would not be able to produce a legitimate heir with the true queen, since she was no longer able to bear children.

There were, of course, two options that remained . A divorce or the death of the queen would allow the king to remarry and produce a legitimate heir to the throne. But his love for his queen would not allow him to divorce her or expedite her death … or would it?

Today I’m re-running one of my favorite vintage stories.  This story of triumph over adversity originally ran on July 17, 2009.  You can find this, and dozens of other older stories, in the Kindle version of Mountains, Meadows, and Chasms.  Now, on with the story …

Heidi rolled onto her stomach.  The weekend was off to a great start.  It was great to get away for a weekend with the girls – no guys allowed.  Lindsey’s uncle loaned them the use of the sprawling old beach house for the weekend.  Heidi, Lindsey, and Katie were working diligently on their tans.  After a rough few months, it was precisely what the doctor ordered for Heidi.

After Heidi’s buns were lightly toasted, she felt the ocean call to her.  She felt to urge to go for a swim.

“Hey,” she called out to the girls.  “Is anyone up for a swim?”

“Not me,” replied Katie.

“Mmrumph zstek,” said Lindsey, before resuming her snoring.

“OK, you’re missing out,” proclaimed Heidi.

It took Heidi a few minutes to locate her swim suit.  She slipped into the suit and raced toward the water.  Heidi waded through the water until it was a bit above her waist, and then she started to swim out toward the distant shore of the wide blue ocean.  Her lithe body sliced through the waves.  The swim in the salt water was refreshing.  Heidi enjoyed being in the midst of the ocean’s biosphere, with a myriad of fish species swimming around her.

When Heidi finally decided to turn back toward shore, she realized that she had swum quite far out into the ocean.  It was going to take a lot of time to get back to the shore, and she was more tired than she had realized.

Fifteen minutes after she began to swim back, Heidi felt herself go completely numb.  Ahead of her, she saw the dorsal fin of a small hammerhead shark.  She began to swim north to circle around the shark, but the shark seemed to sense her and it moved in the same direction.  She was blocked from the shore by the killer.

Heidi was unsure what to do.  She tried to move to the south, but once again the shark followed.  The shark was clearly stalking her.  Heidi had become the prey.  The shark would be more than happy to trail her back and forth and she tried to evade it.  It knew that eventually, Heidi would become tired.  At this point, she would become shark food.

Heidi was a fighter, and she was not about to give in without a fight.  She decided to become the aggressor.  She swam toward the shark.  When she was next to the shark, she attacked it with a barrage of punches and kicks, and then swam quickly away from the shark and toward the shoreline.  The shark was momentarily stunned, but quickly regained its strength and began to pursue Heidi once again.

Heidi and the shark continued this deadly game of cat and mouse.  Each time, Heidi was able to stun the shark for a short while and swim a short distance closer to shore.  The impact of her blows was lessening, however.  The shoreline was still very distant, and her energy was waning.  She simply didn’t have the strength to hold her killer at bay.

Then, in the distance, she saw it.  Something that she had encountered earlier.  If she could make it that far, she might be able to break free from the shark.

When the shark closed in on her, Heidi used nearly every ounce of strength within her to unleash a tremendous attack upon the animal.  She quickly raced away, swimming toward her target as fast as her damaged body would carry her.  As she closed in on the school of fish, she could sense the hammerhead closing in on her, mere feet away.  She felt the welcome disturbances in the water, as the small fish swam around her.

The hammerhead had a choice to make.  He could continue to track Heidi, or he could stop here and have a feeding frenzy within the large school of fish.  Heidi knew that this was not a forgone conclusion.  The fish were an easier target, because they would not fight back as violently as she did.  On the other hand, she knew the shark could sense the lessening of her strength, and her sheer human size made her a much larger meal.

As the shark took a second to ponder the situation, Heidi poured every last bit of strength into her swimming and put a bit more distance between her and the shark.  When her energy left her, she took a break from swimming and focused on simply staying afloat.  She looked over her shoulder and saw that the shark was still violently attacking the defenseless fish within the school.  Heidi felt guilty for leading the shark into the school and causing the slaughter of the fish.  However, she realized that the death of those fish meant that she would live to see another day.

The sun was dying in the west when Heidi finally struggled to shore.  She allowed her body to be dumped upon the beach by the tide.  She lay on the beach for several minutes before willing herself to her feet and struggling up toward the beach house.

Jenna’s cheerleader skirt fluttered in the breeze and she yanked the gas station receipt from the pump.  $50 for a tank of gas?  Ouch.  She was about to jump back in the car when she realized that she was running low on funds.  She exchanged quick greetings with the cashier as she made a beeline for the ATM.  A moment later, she had refilled her wallet with pictures of dead presidents.

Jenna remembered that her mom had asked her to pick up a few items at the grocery store on the way home from the wrestling meet.  She didn’t want to backtrack to the store – she’d just pick them up here.  She experienced a bit of sticker shock when she grabbed the first item – this was far more expensive than the grocery store.  Jenna decided to bite the bullet – she wasn’t going to waste the time going back to the grocery store just to save a few bucks.

The bell on the door jingled and man in his mid thirties entered the store. He grabbed a Pepsi and a package of Ding Dongs and headed to the counter.

“Any gas with that?” asked Mary, the cashier.

“No,” came the gruff response.  “Just give me all the money in the register.”  The man shoved a gun into Mary’s face.

Mary hesitated for a moment, and the man fired a shot into the security camera.  As pieces of the camera fell to the floor, Mary opened the register and started pulling bills out of the drawer.  She shoved them across the counter to the robber.

“That’s not enough,” he complained.  “What’s in the safe?”

“It’s on a time lock,” Mary explained.  “I can’t open it.”

“Maybe this will help you figure out a way to get it open,” he said, firing several shots in Mary’s direction as she ducked for cover.

Out of the corner of his eye, the robber noticed the petite blond cheerleader at the back of the store.  As he turned the gun toward her, he noticed a projectile flying toward him.  The object had knocked the gun out of his hand before he could react.  Before he could move toward the gun, a second object hit him square in the forehead.  The can of frozen orange juice exploded upon impact.

Jenna charged down the aisle and tackle the robber will all the force her ninety five pound body could muster.  As she grappled with the perp, the cashier retrieved the pistol and held the robber at gunpoint until the police arrived.

Note: This story is a sequel to Bull, one of my favorite stories.

Ty Morris spat into the dust and cursed his luck.  He hand gently massaged his left shoulder.  After all this time, he could still feel pain – dull most of the time, with occasional flare-ups.  Ty was ready to get back to work and was hoping for an easy bull in his first go round.  He didn’t need to get the highest score and notch a win – he just wanted to hang on for eight seconds and build up some confidence.

Ty dug a divot into the dirt with the heel of his boot and pushed his hat back.  By plain old dumb luck, he had drawn Crash Course.  Crash was a legend – already a three time bucking bull of the year, and the bull seemed to just be entering his prime.  He was much by feared many who dared hop upon his back.  Ty Morris wasn’t scared of the beast, but he certainly had a health respect for Crash.  When Ty was at his best, a matchup with Crash Course was a fair fight.  With Ty still feeling the effects of his injury, he’d need a miracle to avoid getting bucked off and stomped to death by the beast.

Ty looked up to the clouds.  “Quick and painless, God.  That’s all I’m asking.”

Ty could feel the heart of a warrior beating within the bull as he attempted to get comfortable atop the beast.  When the chute gate opened, the bull rocketed into the arena to face his fans.  In a moment, he noticed something out of place.  The rider had barely managed to hang on.  He had experience with this guy, and he was good.  Something was wrong.

Crash gave a small buck, and felt Ty nearly slide off.  This wasn’t right – he couldn’t let a bona fide champion be embarrassed by getting bucked off so easily.  Crash bucked much more violently the second time, but subtly shifted his body to make it easier for the rider to stay in place.

Ty Morris was confused.  It was almost as if the bull was trying to work with him – bucking high and then moving in a way that decreased the likelihood of Ty being bucked off.  That wasn’t possible.  Crash was a champion, but was still just a dumb bovine like all the others … right?  He chased the thought out of his mind and tried to avoid thinking for the duration of the ride.

Just past the eight second mark, Crash Course bucked Ty high into the air.  A moment after he landed, Crash turned and charged straight for him – missing him by inches.  The crowd went wild.  Ty could swear he saw a twinkle in the bull’s eye.  He shook his head and resolved to lay off the caffeine for a while.

Crash Course played around with the clowns for a bit, pretending to be violently fighting them off.  When he finally left the ring, he bellowed a farewell to Ty Morris.  Next time, you’re mine, cowboy.